Family dinner
by Jlocked
Summary: Summary: Worrying about his brother as always, Mycroft wants to find out why Sherlock is spending so much time with a married man. Mary provides him with an answer. Part of the Sherwood universe. Written with The Lady of Purpletown


"Have a seat, John," Mycroft offered, gesturing at the chair in front of him with the point of his umbrella.

Doctor Watson's mouth was set in a thin line of annoyance, but for now it didn't seem like he would try punching Mycroft. Good. That would improve the quality of their conversation.

"You know, I've got a phone," he said calmly, still walking further towards Mycroft in the path of the car's headlights, which stood out sharply against the gloom of the warehouse. "I mean, very clever and all that, but... you could just phone me. On my phone."

He finally stopped right in front of Mycroft. Almost too close. Interesting.

"When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes," Mycroft said, "one learns to be discreet. Hence this place." He gestured with the umbrella again. "You must be tired after such a long day. Sit down."

"I don't want to sit down." After hearing Sherlock's name, lines of worry had appeared on Dr Watson's face.

Time to show him that he had reason for concern. Mycroft smiled.

"Of course," he said. "The information about your psychosomatic leg is quite outdated. That little problem was resolved a year and four months ago, wasn't it? Shortly after meeting Ms Mary Morstan, now Watson… Your therapist must miss you, but then again, she always had it all wrong."

Doctor Watson's eyes went ice cold. "I don't know what it is you want, but you leave my wife out of this."

"Oh, I'm sure no harm will come to her by _my_ hand," Mycroft assured him. "But what does she think about your connection to Sherlock Holmes?"

As long as it had just been meetings between Sherlock and Dr Watson, Mycroft hadn't paid much attention - if his brother chose to sleep with all those actors, surely a fan who offered him enough praise was no different. Only when Sherlock had started visiting Dr and Mrs Watson's home regularly had Mycroft become aware that this _was_ different. An oversight for which he wouldn't forgive himself lightly, but also a delightful conundrum. What did it mean that Sherlock chose to meet that woman, with whom they would have to keep up appearances for the sake of Watson's marriage? What were his plans with that couple? Or, potentially worse, what were they planning with him? Sherlock had only just broken free of Moriarty's grip; it wouldn't do to get tangled in yet more drama now. If Sherlock wasn't using the Watsons in some way, that would mean he might be setting himself up to have his heart broken by a married ex-soldier.

Said ex-soldier raised his eyebrows. "I could be wrong, but I think that's none of your business."

"Oh, but it is," Mycroft said. "I am most interested."

"Interested in what?" Watson asked. "Sherlock? Why? I'm guessing you're not friends."

Mycroft studied him for a moment. "You've met him. How many 'friends' do you imagine he has?"

The doctor gave a small nod.

"I am the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock Holmes is capable of having," Mycroft continued.

"And what's that? A creepy fan?"

"An enemy," Mycroft said, unwilling at this point to argue that it wasn't _his_ bank account that had recently been drained of some hundreds of pounds in order to buy Sherwood's collected works.

"An enemy?" Dr Watson repeated.

"In _his_ mind, certainly. If you were to ask him, he'd probably say his _arch-_ enemy. He does love to be dramatic."

Dr Watson looked around the warehouse. "Well, thank God _you_ 're above all that."

If anything, the man looked rather amused, but not frightened in the least. The flash of unease at mentioning Sherlock, Mrs Watson and his psychiatric history had turned into a calm anger. The more Mycroft threatened the ex-army doctor, the more he seemed to be enjoying himself.

A pling sounded and Watson immediately dug into his jacket pocket to look at the message. Apparently manners were not his first concern when being kidnapped by a possibly quite dangerous man.

"I hope I'm not distracting you," Mycroft said.

"Not distracting me at all," Dr Watson answered.

"Then let's get to the point. It is clear that you, and possibly your wife, have become quite close to Sherlock in a very short time. You have even been allowed on the set of a project of great importance to him. While I do not in any way wish to hear much detail on what exactly goes on there, I'd be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis, in exchange for information about Sherlock. Nothing indiscreet. Nothing you'd feel... uncomfortable with. Just tell me what he's up to."

"Why? So you can steal his ideas?" Dr Watson looked him over skeptically.

Mycroft was taken aback for a moment. Had he still not figured out his relation to Sherlock? How could he possibly think that he was a producer, or worse, an _actor_? How dim _was_ this man?

"I worry about him," Mycroft answered curtly. "Constantly."

Finally a spark of realisation rose in those dark blue eyes. "That's nice of you."

"But I would prefer for various reasons that my concern go unmentioned," Mycroft continued. "We have what you might call a... difficult relationship."

"Yes." Dr Watson nodded slowly, suppressing a smile. "I think I may have heard about that, actually."

"So do you consider my offer?"

"No."

The answer almost came too fast. But it would. Watson didn't seem clever enough to fool his brother, but that too could be an act. If he wanted Sherlock to believe he was worthy of his attention, siding against Mycroft was a masterstroke.

"I haven't mentioned a figure," Mycroft tried.

"Don't bother."

"You're very loyal, _very_ quickly." Was it only the sex? Or did this soldier think he could take advantage of Sherlock in some other way? Had he been hired by Moriarty to take revenge?

John shrugged. "I'm just not interested."

"Indeed…" Mycroft glanced over to where his assistant was waiting, her fingers flying over her phone. If Dr Watson had said anything in the least suggestive during the car ride, she'd have been radiating contempt by now. "I sent you my most beautiful associate and you didn't even so much as flirt with her," he remarked. "How is it that you have such a _name_ with women, are even married to one, yet only cheat on her with Sherlock Holmes?"

Dr Watson snorted. "I'm not cheating on anyone."

"I have a significant amount of CCTV footage of you and Sherlock in situations that can hardly be called platonic."

"So you _are_ him. Big brother. Mycroft." John shook his head, clearly amused, while his phone let out another 'pling'. "You really have no idea, do you?"

"Then enlighten me."

"No. I don't think so. Not knowing something might be very good for you, actually."

Mycroft raised his eyebrows and Dr Watson turned to his phone again, which chimed for the third time.

"I take it there isn't anything more to say between us," Mycroft said, catching the doctor's attention again. "I can offer you a lift if you give me the address."

"I'll walk, thank you very much. I don't for one minute think you won't be following me, after your little show with the cameras to get me here, but I'm not going to make it _that_ easy for you."

Mycroft smiled. "Very good. As you wish, Dr Watson. I will remember that you never prefer the easy path."

The doctor rolled his eyes and turned away.

…

"So that shiny car of his crept right behind me the whole bloody way, holding up traffic and all. Who does he think he is?" John raged, pacing Sherlock's new office.

"The British government," Sherlock said, not looking up from his laptop. "Didn't I tell you?"

"A bloody stalker, that's what he is! All his pompous talk of being your arch enemy, trying to intimidate me..."

Sherlock chuckled. "Yes... That was probably not a very smart move. But he's not used to men like you, John."

John huffed. "He had the nerve to offer me money. To spy on you."

"Oh?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Did you accept?"

"Of course not!"

"Pity..." Sherlock shrugged. "It could have financed my next project."

A smile broke through John's anger and he finally stood still to look at Sherlock. "Didn't think of that. But seriously. What kind of a brother does something like that?"

"A complete prat?" Sherlock suggested. "A megalomaniac whose greatest phobia is things beyond his control?"

John nodded. "I thought you were just exaggerating, but... He even threatened to tell Mary about us." He snorted.

"Oh, poor Mycroft." Sherlock leaned back, closing his laptop. "So totally unable to imagine anyone not fitting into those neat little boxes he likes to put people in." Then he frowned. "You might want to call her..."

"I told him she knows. He'll leave her alone... Right?" John frowned, suddenly worried that things might not be that simple when it concerned Mycroft.

"He might be picking her up as we speak," Sherlock said.

"But what good would that do him?" John asked, taking out his phone.

"To satisfy his curiosity," Sherlock said. "To find out what kind of woman would put up with this."

John gritted his teeth. "He'd better leave her alone." He called Mary, but she didn't pick up.

"Mary's a big girl," Sherlock said, opening his laptop again. "She can handle him."

"Yes, but... What if she gives him an answer he doesn't like? That woman, Anthea, she must be carrying a weapon. And that umbrella of his..." John shook his head. "I should go find her before he does."

"He won't harm her, John," Sherlock said, chuckling again. "He's all bark and no bite. At least about things like this."

John hesitated. "And what if Mary... you know. Believes he's someone who's really after you. A real enemy."

" _You_ figured it out," Sherlock said, closing his laptop once again and getting to his feet. "She will too."

"You won't hate her if she hurts him?" John looked up at him, still hesitating, with his phone in hand.

"Hate her?" Sherlock walked slowly around the desk, smiling. "I'd kiss her."

John let out a small chuckle. "I suggest you don't tell her that. I've seen her look at your lips."

"Yes." Sherlock wrapped his arms around John. "I've noticed that too, but... I'm pretty sure she's imagining them doing something quite different..."

John licked his lips, put his phone down and then placed his hands on Sherlock's hips. "I'm not sure that's all she had in mind for us."

"Oh?" Sherlock said, pushing John slowly backwards. "Has she told you? What she had in mind for us?"

"Not in so many words, but..."

"She's still shy about it?" Sherlock gave John a quick kiss. "You know it wouldn't bother me."

John chased his lips for another kiss. "Not sure it's about shyness, really... I still haven't agreed to let her watch..."

"Well, in case you do get around to it," Sherlock said, giving John a little push that sent him tumbling down on the sofa. "Maybe we should practise..." He knelt in front of John, running his hands slowly up his thighs.

John shivered. That bloody red sofa. After the way he had talked Sherlock into buying it, just sitting on it was enough to arouse him. And with Sherlock between his legs, looking up at him like that… John stared at his lips, deciding this wasn't such a bad idea to take his mind of kidnapping brothers, and suppressed a moan. "Alright. Maybe we should."

"We should," Sherlock agreed. Smiling up at John, he quickly undid his jeans.

John shivered. "Let me..." He pushed Sherlock a little back so he could take off his trousers and pants himself.

Not taking his eyes off John, Sherlock reached into his pocket and got out a condom. Once John's clothes were out of the way, he bent down and pressed several soft kisses to his thighs before reaching for his cock, stroking it slowly.

John groaned and reached down to caress Sherlock's neck, the velvet brushing his thighs and buttocks as he shifted. "You're so gorgeous..."

"Thank you," Sherlock said, before putting the condom in his mouth, shifting it with his tongue and then bending down to roll it on.

"Fuck." John grabbed the edge of the sofa and tried to keep still. "That trick will never get old."

Sherlock managed a chuckle deep in his throat as he checked the condom with his tongue and then began bobbing his head.

Moaning, John tangled his hands in the dark curls and threw his head back. "God, Sherlock..."

He moved his head forward again so he could look at Sherlock - just in time to see the door open. "Er..." He gave Sherlock's shoulder a push, still staring up at Mary.

Before Sherlock could stop, Mary took a step forward. "Please..." she said, sounding slightly breathless. "Continue..."

Keeping his lips around John's cock, Sherlock glanced up at him, questioningly.

John hesitated as he met Sherlock's gaze. "We... I mean... Here?"

Sherlock's shrug seemed to echo Mary's softly spoken: "Why not?", as she closed the door behind her.

"It's more... intimate... if we do this at home?" John said. "And... planned...?"

Mary just smiled, sitting down on the edge of Sherlock's desk.

Keeping his eyes on John's, Sherlock began moving his head slowly, angling it to give Mary a better view.

"Okay." John took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. "Okay, fine."

As Sherlock sucked him down into his throat, John soon got distracted from the fact that they were being watched. Even though it was Mary, he still felt slightly awkward about the idea, but as he glanced over at her, gasping because Sherlock did that delicious thing with his tongue, it was clear from her face and the way she was squirming that she was enjoying this as much as when they watched Sherlock's films together. John's cheeks were burning, but at the same time it made him feel smug. He was in no way an actor trained to please an audience, and yet she was looking like _that_. He groaned and tried to keep his eyes fixed on hers, but it wasn't long before he was coming and couldn't help looking down at Sherlock instead.

"Wow..." Mary muttered, taking a deep shaky breath. "That was amazing. Hottest thing I've ever seen..."

Sherlock straightened up to give John a kiss and then turned to Mary. "I'm glad you liked it," he said. "And so is John."

John nodded, looking past Sherlock at his wife, while trailing a hand down Sherlock's back. "Do you want me to return the favour? I'm sure Mary will love to see that, too..."

"I would," Mary said, before Sherlock could respond. "But I'm afraid there's no time for that. I actually came here to tell you something. Rather urgent." She blushed and shook her head. "I just got... distracted."

John couldn't help grinning as he pulled up his pants. "Sorry about that... What is it?"

"I had a meeting today," she said, getting to her feet. "A rather unexpected one."

"Shit..." John groaned. "I'm sorry, Mary. I tried to call you, but apparently too late."

"Don't be sorry," Mary said. "It was very interesting. Enlightening."

"So... What's urgent?" Sherlock asked, frowning, while John repeated: "Enlightening?"

"I certainly understand why he and Sherlock don't get along." She giggled. "But they're going to have to make an effort. He's coming over for dinner in..." She checked her phone. "Three hours."

"He's... What?" John sputtered, dropping his trousers mid-movement. "After everything else, that bastard had the nerve to invite himself?"

"Of course not," Mary said calmly. "I invited him. So that he can see for himself."

"You... invited Mycroft Holmes? To come into our house?" John stood up and finally fastened his trousers.

"He wouldn't believe me." Mary held out her hand to Sherlock. "When I told him I was very happy about what was happening between you two. So I figured we had to show him."

Sherlock took the offered hand, but he did not look too thrilled. "He's not a pleasant man," he told her. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"It's none of his business after all, what's going on between us..." John said.

"He'll make it his business," Sherlock said, gloomily. "He'll keep harassing you two as long as he suspects that our... association may in any way harm his position."

John groaned. "What do we care about his bloody position?"

"We don't," Mary said. "But we don't want him harassing us either." She got out her phone. "You two are going shopping. I'll text you what we need."

Sherlock raised his chin defiantly. "Oh, we are? And what are _you_ going to do then?"

"Clean," Mary said. "Unless you want to do that?"

...

"John!" Mary called from the kitchen, stirring a small pot frantically. "Can you get the door?"

But before John could respond, the front door was opened and they both heard a loud: "Brother dearest. How... nice... to see you."

"Shit..." Mary huffed, torn between saving the sauce and stopping Sherlock doing whatever it was he was about to do.

The actor had been working himself up ever since he learned that his brother was coming for dinner, and John and Mary had, in secret, agreed that they should under no circumstances leave the two alone.

"John!" she hissed. "Get out there."

"Yes, yes, I'm on my way," John said, leaving the cutlery in a heap on the table. "They've survived a whole childhood together, they're not going to kill each other _now_."

"I wouldn't count on it," Mary said as she lifted the pot from the stove. "Can you take over here?" she asked, holding the spoon out to John. "Just keep stirring."

"But didn't you want me to…" he started.

Mary groaned. "Just get in here…" she huffed, stamping her foot impatiently while also listening for any sign of things getting out of hand.

"Calm down, love," John told her as he took over the spoon. "He's only the government."

"It's not him I'm worried about," she snapped, wiping her hands on her apron as she stormed out to the front door where Sherlock - who for some reason was no longer wearing the suit she had forced him into only half an hour ago, but was instead dressed in his blue robe and John's pyjama pants - was smiling smugly at his brother, who looked like this was exactly what he had expected to find.

"Good evening, Mrs Watson," Mycroft greeted her. "Such a pleasure to see you again."

"And you, Mr Holmes," she said, pushing Sherlock aside and holding out her hand.

Mycroft took it with a little bow of his head. "I can't thank you enough for your invitation. I'm certain tonight will be… enlightening."

"I'm sure you will find that there is nothing to worry about," Mary said, smiling up at him. "Both John and I care deeply about your brother. In each our way." She elbowed Sherlock in the ribs to get him to stand back, so that she could show Mycroft into the dining room.

"You have style, Mrs Watson," Mycroft complimented her as he looked around. "This is very homely. But without the… cluttering, that is so present wherever Sherlock sets foot."

Mary managed a polite laugh before slipping back into the kitchen. "John," she hissed as she took the sauce from him and poured it into the sauce boat. "Do something about Sherlock. Before I kill him."

"What?" John looked over his shoulder at the brothers. "He seems to behave? And at least he's still dressed…"

Mary glared at him. "If you can call it that. Please… I just hope he hasn't hidden his suit or something like that."

"Alright. I'll get him changed," John said, joining them in the dining room. "Hello, Mycroft. Nice, isn't it, meeting people without being kidnapped first?"

Mary sighed. Great… As if dealing with Sherlock being a brat wasn't enough, it seemed John still hadn't gotten over the indignity of his interview earlier that day. "Now boys," she said as she carried the sauce in and put it on the table. "Behave. Dinner will be ready in five minutes. Just enough time for you to… freshen up…" She glared at Sherlock, who meekly left the room, hopefully to get dressed.

She turned to Mycroft. "Please," she said, gesturing at a chair. "Sit down. Would you like something to drink?"

"A glass of wine would be wonderful," Mycroft said, sitting down.

"I'll get it," John said quickly, already halfway to the kitchen.

Mary allowed herself a deep breath, thinking the night might not be a total disaster after all. Whatever had she been thinking, inviting Sherlock's brother here? Not that the man himself appeared to be a troublesome guest. But she knew Sherlock. At least knew him well enough to know how completely impossible he got when things weren't going his way.

"Excuse me," she said, and joined John in the kitchen. "You need to have a word with him," she whispered. "I adore Sherlock, but I'm not putting up with his shit all night."

"Do you honestly think he'll listen to me?" John asked, putting down the wine bottle.

"John…" she took his hand in hers and gave it a soft squeeze. "Sherlock _does_ listen to you. Always."

"Yeah, right," John said, but once he had handed Mycroft his wine, he did disappear in the direction of the bedroom, where Sherlock would hopefully be.

…

"No, Mr Holmes," Mary said, putting down her glass. "I don't consider Sherlock my husband's lover. He is his boyfriend. Or partner, if you prefer."

"And how, exactly, does that differ from being his lover?" Mycroft asked.

"The word lover…" Mary considered how to put it. "It puts the emphasis on the physical aspects. That is, at least, how it is most often perceived. Especially when one of the parties is already attached to someone else. But what John and Sherlock have is not an affair. It's not, as far as I understand it, a purely sexual thing. They love each other. As deeply as John and I love each other."

John shifted on his chair, blushing.

"Yet you are the ones who are married," Mycroft said. "There must be moments when Sherlock is not included."

"Of course," Mary said. "And sometimes John and Sherlock need time to themselves. I don't have to be with my husband every hour of every day, Mr Holmes. I have a life outside of this house. 'Wife' is not my only identity." She held her hand out to Sherlock, who hesitated before taking it. "And Sherlock cannot spend all his time here with John. He has his work to do. His new studio is doing very well. And he, I think, needs time to just… be… Isn't that right, Sherlock?"

Sherlock smiled a little and nodded. He had been behaving himself, almost since they sat down for dinner. Once the topic had turned to the nature of their relationships he had, in fact, been completely silent.

"But the two of you are not involved," Mycroft said.

"We are not a couple, if that is what you mean," Mary said, not letting go of Sherlock's hand as she turned to Mycroft again. "But in the short time I have known him, Sherlock has become my closest and dearest friend. We share more than just John." She was about to continue, but then realised that Sherlock's hand had gone slack in hers. As she looked over at him, she saw that he was blinking very rapidly. Not like someone on the verge of tears. He just looked… confused…

"Sherlock?" she said softly but he did not respond. He just looked at her blankly, as if he had no idea who she was.

John frowned. "Sherlock? You okay?"

Mycroft let out a huff, raising an eyebrow at Sherlock.

After a long moment of silence, Sherlock opened his mouth as if to speak. He paused, then took a deep breath. "I'm your… best... friend?"

Mary laughed, both with relief and amusement. "Yes, Sherlock. Of course you are. I've shared things with you that I've never told anyone else. Except perhaps John." She leaned over to kiss his cheek. "I trust you, Sherlock. I love you. And I am so very happy that you came into our lives."

Sherlock took another deep breath and managed a small, shaky smile. "Thank you," he whispered.

John was beaming at the two of them until Mycroft cleared his throat.

"Mrs Watson, you have put up quite a convincing show. If you do not mind, I will skip dessert and leave the three of you in peace. I know now that Sherlock is in good hands between the two of you." He got up and pushed his chair back in place.

"I'll walk you out," John offered, getting up too.

The moment they were gone, Sherlock lifted Mary's hand up and pressed his lips to it softly. "Mary Watson," he said, beaming at her. "You are my new hero. You are the first person ever to chase Mycroft away from the table before he's had his pudding."

…

"That's the last one," John said as he handed Sherlock a plate and then let the water drain from the sink. After Mary had fallen asleep on the sofa, they had cleaned up in silence, finishing faster than he could have hoped when he saw the amount of dishes.

Sherlock glanced over at Mary as he put the plate in the cupboard. "She was really something tonight, huh? The way she just… faced him down."

John chuckled. "I guess that was the only way that was ever going to go."

"I can see why you love her so much," Sherlock said, putting an arm around John's shoulder as they watched Mary sleep.

"Should we get her to bed?" John asked.

Sherlock shook his head. "She won't sleep for more than 35 minutes. And then she'll want a cup of tea before going to bed. I suggest we leave her be and then put the kettle on in 30 minutes."

John smiled at how well Sherlock knew her habits and nodded. "How about some fresh air?"

"You still need to cool off?" Sherlock teased. "Did my brother really bother you that much?"

"Well, there's only so much smugness one can bear before it becomes stifling," John said.

"You don't have to tell me. I grew up with the bastard."

John snorted. "Come on. Before we wake her up." He took Sherlock's arm and pulled him along.

"You know..." John said once they had softly closed the door behind them. "Since we have a moment... I'd like to... say something."

"Yes?" Sherlock frowned slightly as he looked down at him. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no. Definitely not." John quickly took Sherlock's hand, hoping to reassure him. "It's just... That thing Mary said about us."

"She said a lot of things," Sherlock said, still puzzled.

"Yes. I know. It's just…" How hard could it be to tell Sherlock this? When it was in his every action around him? He took a deep breath. "I... I find it difficult. This kind of stuff. But when Mary said... we love each other... I realised I've never actually told you. But I do. I love you, Sherlock." John looked up at him, biting his lip.

Sherlock smiled and nodded. "Of course," he said.

John blinked. He was relieved that Sherlock didn't have difficulty processing his confession, but… Sherlock acted as though they were talking about the weather. "I mean it," he said, just to be sure.

"I know," Sherlock said, still smiling. "I love you too."

"Oh. I mean, that's... good." John grinned.

"It's very good," Sherlock said, stroking John's cheek. "But I did not need Mary to tell me that."

John smiled, leaning into his touch. "I didn't need her to _know_ , but... I just felt I should tell you."

"Thank you," Sherlock said, bending down so their lips were almost touching. "Then know that I love you too."

John gave him a gentle kiss, but didn't let it linger. "Did you really need Mary to tell you you're her friend, then?" he asked.

"I've never been anyone's friend," Sherlock said sheepishly. "I never thought I'd be a best friend."

John smiled. "You are a great friend. And boyfriend." He kissed him again, then turned towards the door. "Let's go make Mary's tea."

Sherlock took hold of John's shoulder and pulled him back. "We've got 17 minutes..." he whispered as he bent down for another kiss.


End file.
